Beautiful Moon
by Lionfire42
Summary: Every emotion, every gesture was fake. Ratchet was wrong about Jack. Everyone was. After all, Primes aren't monsters.


Beautiful moon. Dear, beautiful moon. My old friend. My only friend.

Its glow shone down on me, embracing me in its clearness, its cleanliness. I felt the skin tingle wonderfully, as if the moon was shattering the foul excesses of humanity gained in the last month or so. It began to purify me, my mask dropping away, and in the back of my mind, dark leathery wings began to stretch.

_Tonight_

Yes, it would happen tonight. It had to happen tonight. The shadow purred at my acceptance, and together we stretched and rose from the bed as one. We began to dress and prepare.

We had waited weeks for this, our first real night, and our real first time. Everything else had been mere child's play, experimentation. How tempted we had been, how close we had come to breaking our code-how close He'd been to breaking my code.

But know we had a face we could agree on, a goal. A chance to curb the pollution of humanity just a smidge.

Gerard Taltuski was a retired employee of a Smartshop in Las Vegas, and had moved from the bustling city to the dull town of Jasper seemingly for a change in scenery. I knew better.

You see, Gerard had liked little girls. And in Las Vegas, where irresponsible parents drank themselves ever closer to death, dozens of little girls, curious little beauties, had slipped from their hotel rooms, to see all the pretty lights outside personally. And since there were three hotels within range of the Smartshop, Gerard had often come across such beauties and offered to take them back to their parents.

He had no idea who any of their parents were. But the girls never seemed to know that, and so willingly skipped along, their frail hands clutched in his sweaty meaty ones.

They would never see their worthless parents again.

Gerard was sixty-five and overweight, with a ruddy face and an amiable personality. He was the lonely bachelor who seemed content to live the rest of his days with his cat, a tom as fat and disgusting as its owner.

He also was a fledging photographer and a pretty steady cameraman. His muse was, unsurprisingly, little girls. He liked to take pictures over them as they cried, their bare skin glowing softly in the dim light, the tears washing over the strips of duct tapes on their mouths.

How I would like to see him cry.

I had a soft spot for children too you see, although certainly not in the same way Mr. Taltuski did. Most humans I despise. Even my own, hardworking mother isn't a recipient of what humans call love. Rather, I am very fond of her. She understands purity and cleanliness. Her cooking employs tofu in overtime, an excellent food.

But children-children are different. Their natural curiosity, their wonder at everything in life; it is _fascinating_. If I could feel love, I would feel love for them.

But enough about the falseness I have constructed. The night is calling for Taltuski's blood.

I steal out of the house through my window, scuttling down the tree next to my window with expert ease. Despite my quickness I am careful, weighing every movement, easing into every creak, acutely aware of my guest in the garage.

Oh, did I not mention her? Her name is Arcee. A peculiar name really, at least for a human. But like me she is not human. Unlike me, she does not have to wear the skin of one and pretend to be. She is a creature of metal. A refugee if you want to be eloquent, an alien if you don't, and a robot if you want to be frank.

My shadowy creature does not understand her, which is odd. Usually we can stick a bead on people we come across. Human, human, human, human, and Taltuski and me. Fleshbags and darkness.

At first I attributed it to fact that she was a Tired Traveler from the Terrain above. But that was quickly disproved as I was quickly able to get a bead on all of the other creatures that call themselves Autobots. Especially Prime. Optimus Prime the supreme leader of goodness and light. Sworn protector of all of humanity.

Sickening. Although it was amusing that he'd assigned me, an "innocent", to a protector.

All the rats and cats and dogs whose bones fertilized the small tree I climbed down knew exactly how innocent I was.

I stole through the backyards of several houses. The streetlights in front of their houses were still working, some of the few on my street that did. When I got to a spot were the light didn't shine I darted across the street and made my way through the lawns to Taltuski's home.

Finding a person wasn't difficult. Finding one that fit my code was more of a challenge.

You see, I have never done the Thing before. Rather, I have never taken a human life. Tonight would be my first.

Gasp! Jackson, the empty hole, the monster-next-door, a mere virgin in the immoral arts?

Do not fret. The birds and the bees of the Code have ensured that only the guilty be punished.

In a small town like Jasper, a string of serial killings would never be ideal. Especially since I'm too fond of my mother to destroy her career. After all, who wants to be under the capable hands of a nurse that reared pure evil?

So I made a code. There are a surprising number of serial killers here. People who flee to this small dusty town to lay low, confident that Nevada's military history would make the Fibbies and the See-I's very leery. And they were right.

The last time we had a murder, I was six, and as a result, the town created a curfew. How annoying.

If the others were anything like me, eventually the urge for a playmate would grow to be too much. And as I didn't want something extremely annoying, like marshal law, tonight I would send a message. Taltuski would be a nice messenger indeed.

His window was open and there was no security system. He'd only moved in a month ago, after all, and he'd been quickly taken up by the charming desolation that was Jasper. So I seized my package and slipped through.

The house was still full of unopened boxes, and plenty of open pizza boxes. I took a moment to gather myself for the act. A black silk mask over my face. The heavy rubber boots and tight rubber gloves. A sharpened Swiss Army Knife. Duct tape. A shiny bike chain. Plastic wrap. Garbage bags, heavy duty.

And a beautiful cleaver, heavy yet comfortable in my hands.

Cut the garbage bags quickly, turn them into tarps. Glide over the stair landings, prep the stage. One last glance, one last confirmation.

And…_begin_.

We strode down the hallway quickly, to the room where the thunderous snores emitted. We opened the door in a smooth moment, releasing the glaring light of the TV into the dark hallway. Quick check-curtains are closed. Webcam on computer facing away. No visibly disguised cameras. An IPhone lays on the table stand. We pocket it.

Our playmate is flopped back in a recliner, and in a quick movement, we're behind him, looping the bike chain around his neck and pulling once, hard and quick.

Taltuski jerks awake, sneezing and then grunting as his air is cut off. A flabby hand begin to claw at the chain.

"Do not move," we hiss. The shadowy creature rears is joy, its wings flapping, and Taltuski freezes, no doubt hearing it because his own creature flaps it wings in response. But while mine is of joy, his is of terror.

"Rise," we command. And he follows our orders, despite the screaming of his creature, because he knows what his fate will be tonight. Jasper has become his grave rather than his haven.

"Now move," we say, and we guide him down the hallway into the bathroom where the stage is ready for its actors.

We make him sit on the tub edge, feet inside. His toes crinkle the garbage bags and we jerk the chain warningly before nodding at the ready roll of duct tape.

"Tie your feet."

"But-"

A jerk of the chain. "Tie them." He ties them.

"Hands out." He puts them out, and we wrap the duct tape around them with one hand, tightening the chain with the other, in case of a struggle.

But he does not struggle. He knows better. Good boy.

We force him to lay back in the tub, and his eye dart to my face then away from it and then they freeze.

They freeze, because taped to the shower head, dangling down, are small "Have you seen me?" photos of the girls he's killed. All sixteen of them. He begins to tremble.

"Beautiful, aren't they? Weren't they so beautiful before…"

We trailed off. It does not matter if we finish. He knows what we speak of.

Before he hadn't taken them. Before he had forced himself upon them. Before he had become such a messy monster.

As we ready ourselves to begin, his lips move.

"What was that?"

His eyes meet mine and he mouths his words again. _I don't regret it._

We smile pleasantly. "Neither will we," we say, and we bring the cleaver down.

* * *

Two days later I am happy, wonderfully so. The only whisper of emotion I can feel, only to be brought on by a single act.

We enter the garage and close it behind us, turning as Arcee transforms and stares at us. She is on medical leave following the space-bridge incident. She wasn't happy, but thems the rules.

I nod to her in greeting and start towards the door to the house. Her call stops me. "Jack?"

"Yes?" I turn to her. And then stop. She is looking at me with a bemused sort of smile. And something behind her eyes is rising to the surface.

"You were sloppy."

My heart stops. "I-what?"

"But don't worry." She gives that strange bemused smile again. "I fixed them. And I'll make sure you don't make them again."

And she looks at me, and my breath catches. The shadowy creature raises its head and shrieks in excitement.

And another, buried and hidden so deeply that a Prime couldn't see it, that _I_ could not see it, responds.

"I always wanted a brother."

* * *

**Please Review!**

**And if anyone hasn't tried the Dexter show or books, YOU"RE MISSING OUT! Seriously, he has to be the funniest serial killer ever. And he'd the good guy.**


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